


Scortched Earth

by pinkfloyd1770



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 11:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfloyd1770/pseuds/pinkfloyd1770
Summary: Shiro dreams of space, the wonder of discovery, and the thrill of possibilities. When he finds a kid wandering alone in the desert, he offers him a ride to his destination without realizing he's running head long into his dreams, and his nightmares.





	Scortched Earth

The hottest day in August saw Shiro cruising down a stretch of desert highway, the rush of hot air crackling in his ears. He'd left the Garrison on Friday evening, and headed south towards the plateaus. From there he'd taken his circuit east, then north toward the canyons, before he cut west and started the final leg of his journey to the petrified forest.

Shiro had gotten the bike as a gift from his parents after his promotion to officer, and while the simulations of space flight he'd undergone were a marvel to experience, they couldn't eclipse the freedom of speeding through the open desert, through canyons and beneath pillars of stone and sand.

Candidacy evaluations for the next manned mission were over, and Shiro had no other duties except behind a desk, teaching cadets and grading their exams. Last term he'd volunteered to be an assistant instructor in the introductory hand to hand combat class, and when the first years had discovered that the Shirogane Takashi would personally oversee their progress, enrolment in the class had doubled, and Shiro had been temporarily promoted to a regular instructor.

Fine enough, but Shiro didn't enroll in the Garrison to punch and kick people. He wanted to fly. Space was infinite, both in expanse and possibility, and if Shiro didn't quite subscribe to the notion that it was humanity's destiny to reach the stars, he'd made it his personal goal to see things no one else had.

Like a person walking alone, in the middle of the desert.

Shiro squinted. The air shimmered ahead of him, but he had to be sure. He moved closer and slowed. The figure grew into sharp relief against the bright sky, and before long, Shiro could see a swash of black and white, a bag hung on one shoulder, and then dark, disheveled hair. The bike slowed to the point where all Shiro could hear was the hum of its engine.

"Hey. You need any help?" Shiro still couldn't get a good look at the man's face.

Nothing. The man kept his pace and didn't turn his head.

Shiro frowned. "Are you all right? It's supposed to get to one fifteen today and we're over five miles out from the nearest town."

Not even a grunt.

People sometimes became delirious in the desert heat, without enough water, to the point where they dissociated. But this man's gait was too steady, and the stance of his body reminded Shiro of nothing more than a cord pulled taut.

His bike began to protest at its forced cantor, and Shiro pulled off the road, set the lock, and matched the stranger's walk. He schooled his voice.

"Look, I don't know what you think is going to happen here, or what kind of experience you think you have, but you can't walk to wherever you're going and not die."

The man made a sound. At first Shiro thought he'd spoken in a low whisper, but then.

"Are you seriously laughing?" Fuck this. Shiro clenched his fist and jogged in front of the man. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

The man's face filled Shiro's vision. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to fuck off?"

Shiro gawked. This was a kid. He. He couldn't be older than seventeen.

"Did you run away from home or something?" Shiro couldn't help it. What the hell else would a kid be doing in the desert?

The kid belted out a laugh, loud and open mouthed. He looked even younger that way, and Shiro almost laughed along, until he felt the sweat against his forehead and the pressure of the sun on his back.

"Thanks for that. After all the shit that's happened today, the joke was good." He pushed past Shiro and continued on.

"You need to come with me. You can't keep walking." Shiro used his 'captain's voice', as the cadets called it, a few of them with disturbingly happy expressions.

"Yet here I am. Walking. Go figure."

Shiro grit his teeth and fell into step with the guy. He wore a black windbreaker over a white tee shirt, and how the hell wasn't he sweating in that and matching track pants?

"Look, I'll take you wherever you're going, and I won't ask anymore questions."

"I'm good."

"How much water do you have?" Shiro's tone was tight. "What are you going to do for shelter when it gets dark? That jacket won't keep you warm."

"I've got it covered. You can find someone else to babysit."

Right as Shiro prepared to grab the kid and hoist him over his shoulder, he was met with a rigid back and stance so firmly planted that it almost knocked him on his ass when collided with it.

"Hey, watch it." Shiro reigned in his temper when he noticed dark blue eyes fixed on his own.

"No questions."

Shiro nodded slowly, only used to hearing that tone from Iverson and other senior officers.

"No questions," he affirmed.

The kid's eyes darted right, then left. He tilted his head slightly to the right, as though he could hear something beneath the desert stillness. He relaxed after a few moments.

"All right. Let's go." Right past Shiro, yet again.

"You're welcome," Shiro called. He couldn't be upset. This counted as a victory. He followed the kid back to his bike, where the two stood looking like they belonged in the same photo spread of a magazine.

Delinquents Monthly, Shiro's heinously bad humor supplied.

"I don't have a spare helmet, but…"

"Are they paying you to say this shit?" The kid had the guts to sound annoyed.

"Yeah, they are. It's why I'm putting up with your dumb ass instead of leaving you here to shrivel."

The kid's head whipped back suddenly, and he stared at the empty road behind them. His whole body entered a defensive stance, though the position of his hands and feet didn't match any style Shiro had seen.

All Shiro's aggravation evaporated. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." His companion didn't turn his gaze back as he spoke. "Fine."

Shiro knew the best way to approach someone this tense was to let them relax on their own; he'd talked with and comforted enough scared first year cadets to know not to take too direct an approach.

Finally, the kid's body unwound. "Let's go."

Shiro drew heavily on his reserves of will to stall his questions and assurances.

"I'm Shiro." He held out his hand. That's one thing he couldn't forego.

The kid seemed to inspect Shiro's hand. A frown threatened to crease his forehead.

"Keith," he said, and took Shiro's hand as he would a bag of wet waste.

Wrong. The word flared into Shiro's mind and wouldn't dim as he and Keith climbed onto the bike. Wrong. It intensified as Shiro recalled Keith's clothing, his lack of care, his aversion to touch.

Shiro swallowed. "Where to?"

"Kerbsdale." Keith's arms settled around Shiro's waist firmly.

"Kerbsdale." Shiro repeated the name and thought. His eyes widened. "That's thirty miles from here."

"That gonna be a problem?" Again, that tone held authority completely opposite to Keith's frame and age.

"No, no problem. It's just. How the hell were you gonna get there if I hadn't come along?"

"Had it covered," Keith said, and returned to a flippant teen in a beat.

"Right." Shiro shook his head and started the bike. The desert became a rusty blur. His mind still hummed with hues of bright red warning.

Keith said nothing. He leaned right and left when necessary, without command, compacted himself when they increased speed, and his grip remained a steady pressure around Shiro's abdomen. Shiro felt in turns comfort and anxiety. He'd delivered Keith from death by desiccation, but how far from whatever he ran from would Kerbsdale bring him? Would it be better to stall once they arrived, and call the police once he had a private moment? Would Keith run? And from what?

"How fast does this thing go?"

Only the last three years of training stopped Shiro from starting.

"Fast enough. We'll be there soon. For a guy who wanted to walk thirty miles through the desert a few minutes ago, you're pretty impatient."

Keith made no reply. His grip tightened, then loosened, tightened again. If his arms were free, he'd probably be drumming his fingers.

Shiro sighed. He was just a kid after all.

'Soon' turned into twenty minutes, and while Shiro felt an odd sense of accomplishment as stepped off his bike and onto a restaurant parking lot, Keith wouldn't stop his roving gaze. His left hand rested higher than his right, closer to his pocket.

"Kerbsdale," Shiro said unnecessarily. The town had a population of about six thousand, an uptick from its previous five thousand, and due almost entirely to the presence of a large satellite array a few miles out of town. The military had relocated personnel, paid incentives for business owners to establish themselves, and even offered temporary housing assistance to qualified engineers who moved on an as needed basis. Shiro had very briefly considered a move himself; the research conducted at the array was cutting edge and top secret, though from the vague descriptions he'd heard, it involved everything from black hole thermodynamic analysis to attempted contact with extra terrestrial life. Though in the end, why call out to new life when you can fly right up to it and talk face to face?

"Are you done staring off?"

Shiro's gaze settled on Keith. He faced away from Shiro, a few feet away and only had eyes for the sidewalk and street in front of the restaurant. An uncommonly large man in a black tee shirt and pants held his attention. He was otherwise plain looking, except for the long hair he wore up in an intricate knot. The man's head turned slowly, and just has he would have caught site of Keith's attentions, Keith broke contact.

"Now who's staring off?" Shiro tried to smile.

"Staring off and examining are two different things." Keith had his hands in his pockets. Shiro wondered what would happen if the man made his way toward them.

"Look, I know I said I wouldn't ask any questions."

Keith sighed. "You can still save face and not actually ask one."

"Ha. Look. Are you running from someone? Seriously. I know the whole running away from home question sounded funny, but it actually isn't. Did someone hurt you?"

Keith's eyes seemed wider now, and the previous readiness, the tension Shiro detected in his body was fear, the frantic energy of a cornered animal.

Keith lowered his eyes. "Yeah."

Shiro exhaled. "OK." Anger briefly seized him and curled his hands into fists. He imagined the feel of skin and bone against those fists after he found whoever had hurt a teenager enough to drive him into the desert.

"Was it. Your parents?" That would be the worst case.

Keith sighed. "Look, I don't really wanna talk about it right now. I'm supposed to meet someone here, but I don't really know when they're supposed to make it. Or if they'll make it."

Keith's voice held a tremor at the last words, and Shiro beat down his anger again, and the impulse to grip the boy's shoulders, to comfort him. Keith didn't like physical contact, and Shiro still didn't know his story. This wasn't a cadet who'd failed on a flight simulator. This was. There were too many unknowns and implications.

"Can we get some food?" Keith's voice broke through Shiro's thoughts. It had firmed, but there was a fragile edge to it, thin ice on a river.

"Of course," Shiro agreed quickly. He glanced at the restaurant sign. Southwest cuisine. Fine. He could handle that, even if it was probably American knock off.

Keith walked ahead of Shiro after a last, brief backward glance. His hands were still in his pockets.

"Is someone after you?" The scenario sounded ridiculous, something out of a movie, but Shiro hoped briefly it were true, so he could fully vent the anger that had spiked in him.

"No, I'm just paranoid. It's helped me out a few times before." Keith gave the restaurant the same attention he'd given the sidewalk and man. He made a circuit from front to back, and when the server, another man dressed in black, asked if he could be helped, Keith smiled uncertainly and asked where the bathroom was. Before he went, he walked back with Shiro to their booth, which was set in a corner of the restaurant, to the left of the exit.

Keith smiled, and though it held none of the uncertainty he'd offered the server, it softened Keith's features the same way his laughter had, and Shiro smiled back.

"Thanks," Keith said as he set his bag down. "I. Really appreciate what you're doing. Even after I was such an ass to you."

"Don't worry about that. I can't imagine what you're going through."

Keith nodded. "Yeah. I'll. I'll be right back."

After Keith left, Shiro looked at the menu, and as he'd thought, standard pseudo Mexican fair. Whatever. He figured Keith was the kind of guy who didn't mind if his food was authentic or not.

Authentic or not, the place wasn't exactly inviting. The blinds were drawn, and the only source of light were from ugly fluorescent lamps with an irritating. He could give them a pass on the blinds, since the place had weak AC. Still. There were no other customers, and no smell of food from the kitchen.

"Excuse me," Shiro said after the ten minute mark. "Could I have some water?" The server glanced up from the circular bar in the center of the floor. He produced a glass from beneath the bar, topped it off with water, and set it in front of Shiro without a word. His glare was like a mask carved out of stone.

The door chimed as another customer entered. Shiro's mouth dried. He couldn't miss the man's bulk, the expression that matched the server's, nor how his corded forearms flexed as he moved toward the bathroom.

Keith. Shit.

Shiro's body pulsed with adrenaline, then cooled like tempered metal as his combat training urged him forward. He took a step, heard a concurrent noise from behind, and he smacked the onto floor face first with enough force to bounce, as his breath was smashed from his lungs.

He wheezed and tasted blood. His face burned. When he tried to breath, blood caught in his nose and he hacked.

A foot slammed into his back. He didn't have the breath to scream, and his vision blurred as he coughed blood and mucus. His body left the cold floor, somehow turned and Shiro hovered face to face with an enormous man who'd lifted him with such absurd ease a good part of his mind convinced him this wasn't real.

The other part burned with rage and urgency and fear because Keith. Keith, the boy who ran into the desert was still here, probably at the mercy of whoever drove him towards sun and sand and death.

Shiro gripped the arm that held him. He could barely circle the man's forearm with both hands, but he didn't stop, and against the protest of his lungs and back, he stiffened his body, raised his leg and kicked the man as hard as he could in his face.

A grunt, slack in the vice, and Shiro managed to use his other foot to push himself out of the death's grip. He fell to the floor, gasped, and gripped a table edge to steady himself. From the back of the restaurant, he heard something smack against the wall.

Keith. Shit shit.

Before Shiro could fully stand, something smashed into his face, and he crashed back onto the floor, and blood flowed from his nose and mouth. He tried to stand again, but his vision careened to the side, and he stumbled and fell as the man slowly moved toward him, his expression blasé, and that alone brought the rage back to Shiro. He scrambled backward, his hand reaching out for anything, a glass, a knife, hell a fork. Nothing. Nothing and he was useless and Keith was. Fuck. His rage condensed in useless tears.

No no. I'm not going to go out sitting on my own doing nothing. He. His belt. Belt he could still.

Shiro undid his belt and gripped it just as a hand choked off his breath and lifted him. Shiro could barely make out the man's face, but he could still move his hands, and once the he was drawn close enough, he lashed out and wrapped the belt around the man's neck and pulled with his failing strength and.

Nothing. His grip started to fail, his eyes bulged and his heart thudded so fast his chest hurt. He wouldn't look away though, he fixed his eyes on the man's impassive face and thought of Keith. Maybe he'd run, maybe he'd find someone else to help. Maybe.

Warmth splashed Shiro's face. His mouth hung open, his arms fell to his side and he could only stare at the tip of black metal that rose from the man's throat. Helpless, Shiro watched the metal expand and change shape into a sword that parted flesh and bone in its wake.

The man's arms slackened as blood swelled between his lips. Shiro fell to his knees a moment before the man's head and body slapped the floor. Shiro gagged at the sound; the thick metallic smell of blood made him throw up, and he almost choked on that smell all over again. His whole body trembled as he looked up.

"Keith?" He could barely whisper, barely believe, but there Keith stood, bloodied weapon in hand, his face as cold and hard as the man he'd just killed.

Shiro swallowed bile as he saw the server move silently behind Keith, knife raised. His eyes widened, he couldn't find his voice, but he moved his hand and mouthed as the knife fell.

Keith ducked so fast his body seemed to blur. The knife cleaved air, and the next moment the server crashed into the bar with enough force to splinter the wood. His body stilled against the base of the bar.

He just punched that guy hard enough to crack solid wood, Shiro's mind dumbly supplied. This. This is not real.

No, no. It is. This pain? The blood? It's real, as real as Keith and his sword.

Keith's sword. Keith. Shiro struggled to get up. He stilled as a hand touched his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." Keith's voice didn't carry the remorse he spoke of. He sounded tired, and Shiro could only see pity and that same fatigue on his face.

Before Shiro could speak, he felt pressure against his arm. He saw purple light, and then black.


End file.
